Telephones
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Oneshot. Mrs Hughes and inconvenient maternal instinct; after Gwen has gone off to be a secretary.


**Just a oneshot inspired by something nice someone did for me last week. Set after series 1.**

It was fair to say that she picked up the receiver with some apprehension. It would be absolutely typical if- having persuaded Mr Carson to let her use the telephone in his pantry- she managed to somehow damage it beyond repair. Then a second later she shook her head vigorously at herself; it was only a telephone, for heaven's sakes! If she could control the household staff, surely she could handle an inanimate machine without too great a difficulty. Besides she had been given extensive instruction in telephone etiquette by Charles- though from what the woman at the post office who handled the switchboard had said about his antics with the telephone, perhaps this wasn't anything to boast about- and, just to make sure, a swift run through the rudiments of operating the machine from Mr Branson.

Though she was expecting it, it was still something of a shock when the operator spoke.

"Would you like to place a call?"

She cleared her throat nervously, glancing at the slip of paper in her free hand. 

"Yes, yes I would. Manchester, 573 please."

"You will be connected shortly."

She waited, the receiver held somewhat gingerly against her ear. It was something of a relief to her at that moment that she was getting on in years, and probably wouldn't see too many more radical developments of this sort during the course of her lifetime. There was something about them that made her rather skittish, however useful they transpired to be. And she was sure neither she nor Charles, however much they practised, would ever be able to master devices like this with the ease of Mr Branson or Lady Sybil.

"Hello, Mr Bromidge's office. Can I 'elp you?" came a loud female voice.

It occurred to her that while she had been waiting to be connected, she had been standing there daydreaming.

"Hello," she replied hastily, "I'd like to enquire after one of your employees. Gwen Dawson."

"Can I ask who's calling, please?" came the voice again.

"I am calling from the household of Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham," Elsie replied, trying to sound as proper as the confines of her accent would allow.

Well, it wasn't a lie. Strictly speaking, that was exactly what she was doing.

"Ah."

Evidently, that had been exactly the right thing to say.

"Gwen used to work for you, didn't she?"

"That's right," Elsie was starting to feel awkward speaking in a voice like Lady Violet's or Mrs Crawley's, the woman at the other end of the line had almost as broad an accent as Miss O'Brien, "How is she settling in?"

"Well," came the voice again, "I'd say she's doing fine; very well considering it's 'er first week. We were all a bit surprised, you know, 'er not 'aving any previous experience of office work, but she's picked thinks up marvellous. A right 'ard worker she is."

Elsie could not deny that she felt a swell of pride in her chest at that. Though, at first, she'd taken some persuading that pursuing a career as a secretary was a sensible option, it seemed that the girl had rather come into her own. Typical Gwen, she thought. She had told Charles when they hired her that the girl would turn out well.

"And she's settled down well outside of work?" Elsie pressed on, aware at the edge of her mind that this was probably the first time Gwen had lived on anything like her own. Briefly, Elsie thought that she was showing far more real independence than she herself had ever known. And that, truth be told, had probably been the notion that had most irked her, at first, about Gwen leaving service.

"As far as I know," was the reply, "I understand she's taken lodging at t'local boarding house."

Oh Gwen, you brave brave girl. Elsie chewed her lip for a second, thinking of the timid young child who had arrived at Downton; now grown up to live on her own in a boarding house and a job in the city. She wondered why all of a sudden she wanted to weep.

"Would you like to speak to 'er?" the voice suggested cheerfully, "Doubt she'll 'ave gone yet."

Elsie's initial impulse was to say yes, she'd love to speak to Gwen and ask her how she was herself, and tell her that they all missed her- especially Anna and William. But there was something that stopped her. Hadn't she just been trying to hide her identity by putting on this ridiculous voice? If she spoke to Gwen and it was discovered that she was only the housekeeper as opposed to one of Lady Grantham's family, she might not be able to call again.

"No, not just now," she replied, and then added hastily; "Might I call again though?"

"Certainly, ma'am. 'Ave a good evening."

And with that the speaker hung up. And Elsie was left standing there with the strangest sense of something akin to bereavement amid the relief and pride she still felt.

**Please review if you have the time.**


End file.
